Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
After an enjoyable evening with her two neighbors, Taylor returned to the office the next day in high spirits. When Jameson asked her to go out with him on Thursday night, she didn’t know what to think. He’d explained it was an op and that he could use her help.
That’s all it had taken for her to say yes.
Now that the day had arrived, Taylor gazed at herself in the mirror, approving of the tight blue jeans, heeled boots and formfitting stretchy top. She looked like a woman ready for a date at the Trackside.
Not a date, she reminded herself. An op.
Jameson had made that clear. Having a woman by his side, especially one who knew the score, would allow him to do his job more efficiently.
Although she didn’t know the details, she was confident Jameson wouldn’t put her in danger, so she felt more excitement than trepidation about the evening.
The knock at the front door had Taylor adding more color to her lips before hurrying down the steps to the main floor.
When she opened the door, her breath caught. Jameson looked more appealing than any man had a right to look in jeans, boots and a flannel shirt.
When he saw Taylor, he let out a low whistle. “I’m going to be fighting off the guys tonight.”
For a moment, Taylor worried she’d misunderstood the dress code at the bar adjacent to the railroad tracks. “I thought this was probably something other women would be wearing there. You said you didn’t want me to stand out.”
“It is, but you kick it up a notch.”
She flashed him a smile and gestured to the sofa. “Do we have a few minutes to sit so you can tell me about this assignment?”
Jameson hesitated. “Why don’t I tell you on the way? I need to get to the guy’s house before he leaves.”
“I’m ready.”
After opening her car door, he rounded the front of the vehicle. “This car might not be much to look at, but it’s perfect for nights like this.
“Nights like this?”
“Any newer vehicle would stand out. The Impala blends in with other traffic. We’ve been paid to follow the subject from when he leaves home until he returns.”
“So this is an infidelity case?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. The wife only suspects that he’s cheating.” Jameson drove down the street, turning onto a main thoroughfare that would take them to the subject’s house. “She hasn’t found any incriminating texts or unusual bills or seen any phone numbers she doesn’t recognize.”
“He could have a different phone,” Taylor suggested.
“He could.”
“Why does she think he’s cheating?”
“The Thursday dart league at Trackside is the only place he goes regularly, and he comes home very late.”
“Surely there has to be more.” Taylor couldn’t imagine hiring a PI and paying the expensive rates for surveillance with such little reason.
“Our client was cheated on by her first husband. It went on for a long time, and she was clueless.” Jameson wheeled the car into a neighborhood populated by small bungalows with postage-stamp-sized front yards.
The pride of ownership showed in the Thanksgiving decorations on the porches and the leaf-free lawns. Taylor smiled at the sight of two boys and a middle-aged man shooting hoops in a driveway.
Jameson pulled to the curb several blocks into the neighborhood and turned off the headlights. The house he’d parked in front of was dark, and no car sat in the driveway. “Their house is the yellow one with the red door. The other side of the block, five houses up.”
The spot was close enough to allow them to watch the house and driveway but not close enough that they’d be noticed. Thankfully, the homeowner whose house they’d parked in front of didn’t appear to be home.
“She didn’t want to ignore or miss any signs this time.”
Taylor blinked, then realized he was talking about the client. “Did she ask her husband if he was cheating?”
“She did. He denied it.”
“She doesn’t believe him.”
“She wants to and has no evidence to the contrary, but she felt like she stuck her head in the sand the last time and refuses to do that again. But neither does she want her husband to think she doesn’t trust him.”
“Trust but verify,” Taylor murmured.
“That’s what we’re doing tonight.” Jameson kept his gaze focused ahead. “We’re going to watch him. If he goes to a woman’s house, we’ll know. If he flirts with a woman at the bar, we’ll know. If he leaves with a woman, we’ll follow. And we’ll get photos. ”
Taylor hoped none of that would occur. She liked to believe that most people were decent, honorable and, most of all, trustworthy. Still, she had the feeling that working in the PI field could make even an ardent optimist a cynic.
“You had to see a lot of the bad in people when you worked on the force.”
“I did.”
“Now, every day, you see people who lie about the extent of their injuries so they can get benefits they don’t deserve or spouses cheating on their partners.” Taylor shook her head. “How do you handle all that without thinking the worst about everyone?”
Jameson slanted her a quick sideways glance before his attention returned to the client’s house. “I stay objective and remember I don’t have all the facts. I don’t know what may have happened in that person’s life that contributed to their behavior.”
Taylor thought about her mother and her dad. Only recently had she discovered how much she didn’t know about their lives together. But she wasn’t going to think about that right now. “If we don’t come up with anything, do you think she’ll hire you to follow him again?”
“I doubt it, but these cases can be difficult to predict.”
“Tell me why you wanted me with you.” She shot him a mischievous smile. “Apart from my razor-sharp wit and scintillating conversation.”
He smiled and then turned serious. “Alone, I stand out. Women will try to start a conversation and get me to buy them drinks. I won’t be able to fully focus on the job at hand.”
Taylor wanted to tease him about being arrogant, but she couldn’t. Women would be all over him.
“Will this be like the Black Apron?” she asked.
He nodded, immediately understanding what she was asking. “Much like that. I’ll pretend to be taking pictures of you while getting pics of him. ”
“Got it.”
“That’s his car.” Jameson lifted binoculars and added, “It’s him behind the wheel. Looks like it’s showtime.”
Jameson waited until the Kia was nearly out of sight before turning on his lights and pulling away from the curb.
They stayed well behind him, but kept the vehicle always in sight.
After several turns, Jameson relaxed. “No detours unless whoever he’s meeting lives close to the bar.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s headed straight for Trackside.”
As the bar came into view, Taylor thought how devastated Sara had been to learn of her husband’s infidelity. “I hope this guy isn’t cheating.”
Jameson was silent for several seconds. “Me, too.”
The Trackside Bar was so named because it sat near railroad tracks. Its weathered fa?ade bore the scars of time, with fading signage and flickering neon lights. Despite its unassuming exterior, the graveled parking lot was filled with cars, trucks and motorcycles.
Taylor stood next to the Impala, studying the exterior. “Not a wine-bar vibe.”
Jameson chuckled. “Definitely not.”
“What’s the appeal?” Taylor inclined her head. She watched two men with heavily lined faces push open the door, letting raucous laughter drift out into the still night air.
“Cheap drinks. No pretense.” Jameson thought for a moment. “One of those places where you can come as you are, forget your troubles and just be.”
When she made no move toward the door, Jameson turned to her. “Ready? ”
“This will be a new experience,” Taylor told him. “I enjoy new experiences.”
“I hope the evening lives up to your low expectations.” Humor laced his words.
Once they reached the door, he came around her to shove it open. It reacted with a loud squeak that would have had her dad pulling out his WD-40.
The unmistakable aroma of stale beer and cigarettes lingered in the air. The interior was dimly lit, with lights casting long shadows across battered wooden floors and tables showing their own scars.
The walls, adorned with peeling paint and lighted vintage beer advertisements, only added to the ambience.
Despite its rough-around-the-edges appearance, the place was surprisingly clean. Battered, yes. Run-down, definitely. But whoever owned this bar valued cleanliness, and it showed.
The bottles of well liquors gleamed behind the bar that, even now, a grizzled bartender wiped down with a rag.
Several dart boards were set up toward the back of the room. These caught Jameson’s eye immediately. “Let’s see if we can get a table near the action.”
Taylor understood. She was good at reading between the lines. Jameson wanted to be near this area because this was where he expected the man they were observing to be. Too late, she realized she should have asked to see a picture of the guy.
“What do you want to drink?” Jameson asked.
A nice glass of Merlot was on the tip of her tongue, but even she knew this wasn’t the place for wine. “Whatever they have on tap.”
He nodded, then stopped at the edge of an empty table—one that obviously fit his criteria. “I’ll be back with the drinks.”
Jameson hadn’t told her where to sit at the table, but recalling how it had gone down at the Black Apron, she sat with her back to the action .
“What’s a pretty lady like you doing here all alone?”
Shifting her gaze, Taylor looked up to find a tall guy about her age smiling at her.
Could this be the man Jameson was watching? What would the odds be that he would approach her?
Taylor gazed up at him. “I’m waiting for my boyfriend. He’s at the bar getting our drinks.”
He rested his hand on the edge of the table. “Sally would have come to the table and taken your order.”
Taylor assumed that Sally was the leggy blonde scurrying between tables. “We didn’t want to wait.”
The guy abruptly straightened. “I’ll see you around.”
“Who was that?” Jameson set a pilsner glass in front of her before choosing the chair that gave him the best view of the dart boards.
“A kind soul who wanted to make sure I wasn’t lonely.”
Jameson’s lips quirked upward. “I bet.”
She took a sip of beer and gazed at him over the rim of her glass. “I bet I’m not the only one who’s been hit on tonight.”
“I told her I have a girlfriend.” He shrugged. “She moved on.”
“I never thought I’d say this, but I like this place.”
“Don’t give me that.”
“It’s true.” She watched him scan the crowd and took another sip of beer, relaxing against the back of the wooden chair. “There’s something relaxing about being in a place where there is no pretense, where what you see is what you get.” She glanced down. “From the peanuts on the floor to,” she lifted her glass, “cheap beer. At least, I assume it was cheap.”
“It was.” He smiled. “I like the positive attitude.”
The admiration in his eyes had a warm rush of pleasure flowing through her veins. She enjoyed being with Jameson and was glad she’d accepted his invitation.
Then she remembered this wasn’t a date. This was business.
“Show me your phone. ”
The abrupt request had him blinking. “Pardon?”
“I want to see a picture.”
It took only a second for understanding to flicker in his dark depths. He pulled out his phone, scrolled for only a second, then tilted the phone so she—and only she—could view the image.
Then he swiped again and set the phone facedown on the table before him.
She hadn’t had long to view the face, but it had been enough for her to recognize the man if she saw him tonight.
The man had a nice face—not classically handsome, but attractive. He had sandy-colored hair and a square jaw, and a light reflected in his eyes when he smiled, which he was doing in the picture on Jameson’s phone.
She scanned the bar. The man in question now stood in the area of the dart boards, speaking with a burly guy with a pockmarked face.
Taylor understood why Jameson had made sure they’d arrived at the subject’s house before the man typically left for the bar. Being late could have meant missing something important.
“You often work long hours.” Taylor kept her voice low and her comment deliberately vague just in case anyone was listening.
It wasn’t likely, as those around them appeared more interested in their conversations than what was happening at this table. However, Taylor had once sat in a booth in Chicago and listened to the couple in the next booth talk about someone she worked with at the time, so she was cautious.
“I do.” Jameson sipped his drink.
The clear liquid in the shot glass could have been vodka, but Taylor bet it wasn’t. Jameson didn’t appear to be the type to let anything dull his senses while on assignment.
“You worked long hours at your previous job, too.” Taylor kept her tone casual and offhand. “Why exchange one for another? ”
“Autonomy. Variety. Freedom of choice.”
“It’d be difficult to have a family when you’re working more than you’re home.”
“Your dad worked a lot of hours at his job,” Jameson pointed out. “He made it work.”
It was strange, Taylor thought, how she’d never resented the hours her father wasn’t at home, while her mother being gone had been a constant source of strife.
“I don’t?—”
Taylor forgot what she was about to say when Jameson lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles.
“You look smokin’ hot tonight, babe.”
Even as Taylor gave an involuntary shiver, she pulled back.
His fingers tightened around hers, and she saw something when she met his gaze. That’s when she knew the subject had stepped away from his burly friend.
“Kyle,” someone called out, “we weren’t sure if you were coming tonight.”
“I wasn’t sure either.” Kyle’s deep voice fit the image she’d seen on Jameson’s phone. “But I made it.”
If anyone glanced in their direction, it would likely appear that Jameson was looking at her, but she could see where his gaze was focused.
“Tell me about your day,” Jameson said with a smile. “I want to hear all about it.”
This was one more thing she should have asked him on the drive to the bar—what should she talk about or do while he was watching the subject?
Mindless chatter, she told herself. Nothing that would give away anything and nothing too intense to pull his attention from the subject.
“I’m not sure if I told you, but I invited my neighbors over for dinner last night.” Taylor’s lips curved. “We had homemade pizza and wine and strawberry tarts for dessert. ”
Jameson chuckled as if he found the boring account highly entertaining.
A roar rose from the area of the dart boards, and Jameson’s attention immediately shifted.
“What a throw,” a man called out.
“Way to go, Kyle,” another said.
“Yay, Kyle.” This was a feminine voice.
Jameson lifted his phone, that phony smile back on his face. “You look so amazing. Pose for me, babe.”
Taylor did a pouty face, then a sexy one—or she hoped it looked sexy instead of silly—and another where she tossed her hair back. Jameson took one picture after another…of Kyle.
“I’m getting something to drink,” she heard Kyle say.
Jameson lowered his camera and gestured imperceptibly with his head toward the bar.
Pushing back her chair, Taylor stood. “This beer isn’t doing it for me. I want a rum and Coke. Want anything?”
“Naw.” Jameson shook his head. “I’m good.”
Taylor sashayed her way to the bar, stopping to stand beside Kyle. She considered saying something to him but decided to stay silent.
When the bartender looked in her direction, she smiled. “Rum and Coke.”
“I can have Sally bring it to your table,” the bartender offered.
“She’s busy.” Taylor waved a dismissive hand. “I’ll wait.”
“Give me a draw,” Kyle said when the bartender glanced at him.
Taylor noted Kyle wore a wedding ring. She wondered if Jameson had noticed and vowed to mention it when she returned to the table.
That was her last thought when a woman, a busty redhead, pushed between her and Kyle, slanting her body toward him.
“You’re on fire tonight.” Her voice was a soft purr.
“I got lucky.” Kyle turned his attention back to the bartender .
As Taylor watched, the woman walked her fingers up his arm.
“Buy me a drink, and you could get even luckier later.”
There was no doubt in Taylor’s mind what the woman was offering.
If Kyle noticed, he gave no indication. He merely smiled politely and paid the bartender for his drink. “I need to get back.”
“I’ll put yours on the tab,” the bartender told Taylor as he slid the rum and Coke across the bar to her.
“Why didn’t you put that guy’s drink on a tab?” she asked.
“Kyle only has one drink while he’s here.” The bartender shrugged. “He prefers to pay as he goes.”
Taylor nodded before turning to the redhead. “He could have at least bought you a drink.”
“I know.” The woman’s lips formed a pout. “He never does.”
“Really?” Taylor took a sip of her rum and Coke and found it strong.
“I keep trying, though. He’s cute, don’t you think?”
“He is.” Taylor tilted her head as if a thought had just struck her. “You think he’s got a girlfriend?”
“Even worse.” The redhead heaved a dramatic sigh. “He’s got a wife.”